


now close your eyes

by sunlightdances (glowinghorizons)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 10:45:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16831087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowinghorizons/pseuds/sunlightdances
Summary: Dean leans in, but you stop him with a hand to his chest, and have to laugh when you see the offended look on his face.“You’ll get my germs,” you protest.“I really could give a shit right now.” He leans back in, whispering, “I haven’t kissed you in almost three days.”“To be fair, I had to wait an entire year for you to finally kiss me, so.” You sit back, smug.





	now close your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> It’s fluff, pals. Did anyone ask for hurt/comfort + secret relationship? No? Well here it is anyway.
> 
> Title and lyrics inset are from “1972” by Christian Lopez (I’ve used the lyrics for my own interpretation and not their literal meaning from the song. Nevertheless, it’s a great song and you should listen to his album).

_Go ahead, let your eyes get heavy,  
I got the wheel, my hands are steady_

_._

_._

_._

Sam and Dean both look up when you come into the room like they can’t believe what they’re seeing, and you take a deep breath, preparing for an argument. You drop your bags at your feet and lean against the wall.

“You’re not going.” Sam says, arms crossed over his chest.

You blink. “I’m sorry, are you my _mother_ –”

“You can barely stand!”

“That’s not even true.”

He sends you his patented bitch-face. “Okay. Go on, then. Move away from the wall.”

You glare at him, but take a step away from the brick wall at your back. So you’ve got a head cold. Big deal. You’ve hunted with worse. It takes nearly all your concentration not to lean backwards - your head is a little congested and you’re exhausted. But if Sam Winchester thinks you’re going to miss this hunt, he’s got another thing–

“See?” He says, interrupting your train of thought. “You can barely keep your balance. You need to rest.”

Dean laughs, actually _laughs_ when you turn to him for help. A glare sent his way makes no difference, and when he finally stops chuckling, he looks at you apologetically. “I’m sorry, but no. There’s no way you actually thought you were coming on this trip.”

You open your mouth to ream him out, but he stops you.

“You told me yesterday you had a fever of over 100 degrees. You’re not going anywhere.”

Seething, you look between him and Sam, “I don’t know where the two of you get off _telling me_ what I can and can’t do–”

“Look,” Dean takes a step closer, his voice more tender. “I– _we_ – can’t spend this entire hunt worrying about you passing out or something worse. Just– stay here, get some sleep, okay?”

Sam is watching you warily, like he thinks you’re going to make a break for it, but your head slumps forward as you admit defeat. You _are_ exhausted, but you hate this. You feel useless. They need your help, and even though they keep telling you it’s fine to miss a hunt once in awhile, you’re nervous about not being there with them.

“What if you need my help?”

“Then we’ll call,” Sam says. “But you really need to rest. No offense, but you look terrible.”

Dean snorts, until you turn to him, turning on your best pleading eyes. “Oh no,” he says, backing away, “Don’t give me that look. I won’t fall for it. Not this time. You need to get back to bed and sleep for the next two days.”

You groan in frustration. “Fine. But if I don’t get an update from either of you this weekend, so help me I’ll drive out there and kill you myself.”

“Yeah, yeah. We know. Come on,” Dean says, slinging his arm around your shoulders and guiding you back to your room. Once you’re there, he turns around to give you some privacy as you strip your jeans and throw on some pajamas. “That was a dirty trick you played back there, you know.” He tells you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” A beat. “You can turn around now.”

His eyes narrow. “You _do_ know what I’m talking about, just like you know those eyes of yours will get me to do just about anything you want.” His mouth tilts up a fraction. “You’re not very good at keeping secrets.”

You roll your eyes as you pull back your duvet and climb into bed. “I’m on cold medicine. It’s not my fault.” You finally get comfortable. “Besides, I thought you told Sam already.” You mumble, and his face falls.

He comes to sit next to you on the edge of your bed. “Hey, look at me.” He reaches for your hand, squeezing gently. “I just– Sam’s going through a lot right now. I don’t want to rub this in his face.”

You nod. “I get it. I just–”

“You want to be able to use your womanly wiles on me in front of people, I know.” He rolls his eyes fondly, a laugh escaping him when you huff. “We gotta take off. Call if you need anything.”

You hum your agreement.

“I mean it, okay? You need anything, call.” He leans in, kisses your forehead, and then he’s gone.

.

.

.

You sleep for most of the day, although you absolutely refuse to admit that Sam was right. You can’t help but remain nervous about them (and yes, you’re aware that they hunted alone for _years_ before you came along, but still).

You binge show after show and manage to force yourself to eat in between naps, and start to get a little worried that you’re not really feeling any better after almost two days. You think of calling Sam or Dean, but they’re busy, and you feel stupid because you kept insisting you were fine.

The third day, Dean finally texts you to let you know they should be home late at night, having wrapped up the case in the morning. Relief floods your body when you read the message, and you send him back a quick reply before deciding to shower.

You’re not– this thing with Dean is still very new, and you feel like a teenager, but what’s wrong with wanting to smell nice when your maybe-boyfriend comes back from a trip? It’s not like you planned to get sick a week after Dean finally made a move and kissed you for the first time.

You head into the bathroom and turn the shower on, hoping the steam warms up the room enough so you stop shivering. You probably still have a fever, so you hop in the shower as soon as it’s hot, sighing as the water hits your sore muscles.

After shampooing, you start to feel a little lightheaded. You figure you’re just moving too fast, and try to slow down, turning the water off after you rinse. You get yourself out of the shower and into your underwear and shirt before you feel a wave of nausea hit you. You head back to your bedroom as fast as humanly possible and crawl under the covers, bringing your knees up to your stomach to try and stop your stomach pain.

In a few minutes you’re asleep.

.

.

.

Your phone ringing is what jars you awake. “Shit,” you whisper, your head pounding. Your head is swimming, and you can barely see the name on the screen as you struggle to answer the phone.

“Hello?” You croak.

“I’ve been calling you for almost an hour, kid.” Dean’s voice comes through the line, worry seeping through.

“I was sleeping.”

“You okay?”

“I’m fi–” You start to tell him, but then you feel another wave of nausea hit you, and you remember how dizzy you felt earlier. “Come home.”

“We’re on our way, okay?” You can practically hear Dean flooring it over the phone, the loud roar of the Impala reassuring you. “We’ll be there in a few hours. Hang in there.”

You doze off while you’re waiting for him, and the next thing you know, there’s a cool hand brushing the hair off your forehead, and you hear your name being called. “Hey, wake up, sweetheart.”

“Dean?”

“You’re burning up. Can you sit up for me?”

You struggle to do as he asks, but you manage to prop yourself up enough so he can hand you a glass of water. “I feel like shit.”

He chuckles, “No kidding. Why didn’t you call us sooner?”

You can see Sam lingering in the doorway, concern written all over his face.

“I’m not– I don’t like asking for help. I thought I was fine.”

Dean’s jaw clenches. “Sammy, can you give us a minute?”

Sam nods, sending you a smile before he goes, and Dean turns to you, and immediately you can tell he’s frustrated.

“You and I really are cut from the same cloth, huh?” He says, and his voice is more gentle than you expected it to be. “Look, I get it. Hell, I’m the poster child for being independent. But if we’re going to do this thing,” his hand settles over yours, “I gotta know that you’re gonna come to me or talk to me if you need me.”

A little embarrassed, your first instinct is to fire back at him, “What, like you do?” Immediately you regret it. “Wait, I didn’t–”

“No, you’re right.” He looks down, “I can’t promise that I’m going to change overnight but I’m going to try, okay? We’re friends first, and you deserve that much.” He meets your eyes. “It’s okay to ask for help once a while, especially if you’re asking me, okay?”

You’re overcome with a wave of adoration from the man in front of you, and if it weren’t for your pounding head and sour stomach, you’d probably jump him. Dean is the most reliable, steadiest person you know. You trust him more than anyone else, besides Sam.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call.” You tell him, and he squeezes your hand. “I was still mad that I couldn’t go on the hunt and I didn’t want to admit that you guys were right,” you mumble, and when you look back up at him, he’s grinning. “Oh, shut up.”

Dean leans in, but you stop him with a hand to his chest, and have to laugh when you see the offended look on his face.

“You’ll get my germs,” you protest.

“I really could give a shit right now.” He leans back in, whispering, “I haven’t kissed you in almost three days.”

“To be fair, I had to wait an entire year for you to finally kiss me, so.” You sit back, smug.

“I’m gonna let that one slide because you’re sick,” he says, standing up. “How about some soup? You should get out of this bed and eat something.”

“I’m dizzy.”

He frowns. “Alright. Go back to sleep. I’ll be back in a bit.”

You nod, burrowing into the blankets as he strokes your hair a bit longer, eyes getting heavy.

.

.

A few hours later, you wake up to hushed voices and feel yourself swaying as someone carries you.

“I’m telling you, she needs to go to the hospital. Her temp is too high and she kept saying she was dizzy.”

“She probably didn’t eat for a few hours. She doesn’t feel as hot as she did before.” Sam says, whispering. “You’re kinda overreacting here, dude.”

“I’m not overreacting.”

“You’ve really got it bad for her, don’t you?” Sam says, and you _feel_ it as Dean almost drops you.

You wake up fully with a yelp, and Dean curses as he gathers you closer, swatting Sam’s hand away. “I’ve got her, I’ve got her.”

“What the hell are you idiots doing?”

“Dean thinks you need to go to the hospital.” Sam rolls his eyes. “You just need to eat something and drink some water.”

“I’ve been drinking water.”

“Clearly not enough!” Dean interrupts. “Look, just– you wouldn’t wake up, and when you did, you couldn’t even stand–”

“I think you’re panicking. Now put me down because sick or not I’m still going to kick your ass.”

He sighs and rolls his eyes, but does as you ask, setting you down. He hovers close by like he thinks you’re going to collapse any second.

“Seems like she’s feeling better to me if she’s threatening you,” Sam teases.

You _do_ feel a little bit better after sleeping it off and drinking some water, but you still feel like you couldn’t eat anything without being sick. “I just need some… applesauce or something.”

Dean looks at you like you’ve grown two heads. “There is no applesauce in this house.”

You remember what Dean said to you earlier, and turn your pleading eyes on him full force. “Can you guys go get some? And some ice cream? I’ll never ask for anything again– well, that’s a lie, but seriously, please? I’ll pay you back.”

Dean looks incredibly put out, but finally sighs and pulls his car keys out of his pocket. “Go back to bed. I’ll bring it to you.”

“Thank you,” you say, leaning up to kiss his cheek before remembering about Sam in the room. Sam just has a huge smile on his face, so you decide not to worry about it, suddenly wanting nothing more than to be in your comfy bed.

As you head back down the corridor, you laugh as you hear Dean say threateningly to Sam, “Not a word, dude. Not a word.”


End file.
